


The Soldier and the Seawolf

by wxandwaves



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wxandwaves/pseuds/wxandwaves
Summary: 20-year-old Eleanor Mac Eanraig is the most successful raider on the Waking Sea, so feared by the Orlesians that they've dubbed her the Seawolf. With both the respect and loyalty of her crew, she is more than equal to the task of leading the defense of Denerim Harbor from an impending Orlesian assault, just so long as no one questions her authority. Or attempts to touch the rigging of her ship. Or proposes marriage.22-year-old Bryce Cousland is the son of one of the most powerful men in the Fereldan nobility, but he's humble about it. He's slightly less humble about the commendation he just got from the prince. He has never been on a ship before.The Soldier and the Seawolf--a meeting so legendarily disastrous that a ten verse sea shanty was written about it. Now, a ten chapter account of just how disastrous it truly was.





	The Soldier and the Seawolf

Eleanor Mac Eanraig stood on the quarter deck of _The Mistral_ gazing out at the Denerim docks below as dockworkers, raiders, and soldiers shuffled about their business. She was supervising the restocking of supplies and the addition of a full contingent of soldiers to her crew but was already in a bad mood. While she readily supported her father’s call to bolster the fleet in anticipation of an Orlesian attack by sea, she did _not _support the soldiers’ commanders _also _being present. _The Mistral _was _her _ship, and _no one _was going to try and give _her _orders on _her _ship. She had not been sinking Orlesian ships for five years and earned a reputation to outshine the Storm Giant just to be ordered about by some pompous lord still riding the high of victory from retaking Denerim. They were always the worst. Not just because they always wanted to take command of her ship, but because they wanted to take command of _her_. Or worse, they wanted to marry her. A broken nose or jaw, she found, usually put an end to such ridiculous notions. 

It was a beautiful, crisp, sunny day in Denerim as Eleanor stood on the quarter deck, a gentle sea breeze playing with wisps of her strawberry blonde hair, her hands clasped behind her back as she surveyed her domain. Combined with the intensity of her glare, the frost in her sea-green eyes, and her general fierceness of expression, this gave the overall impression of her appearing something akin to a bird of prey about to swoop in and attack. She was a woman both feared and respected by her crew, with a well-earned reputation as the fiercest raider on the Waking Sea. Though only twenty, she was a force to be reckoned with, and her crew were proud to serve with her.

Eleanor fixed her hawk-like gaze on the new soldiers as they boarded her ship, watching their movements in a calculated, predatory sort of way. If any of these infantry men so much as _breathed _on that rigging the wrong way, they were going to get an earful. Honestly, had any of them even seen a ship before? Could they even stomach being at sea?

“My Lady, the new provisions have all been loaded into the hold and accommodations are being made in the crew quarters for the newcomers,” said her second, a large, burly man with a bushy ginger beard and a battle scar running through his left eye, rendering it sightless.

“My thanks, Barnaby. Any word of their commander?” asked Eleanor, her gaze still focused on their new comrades.

“None, Captain. I’ll send ‘em your way when they get here,” said Barnaby.

“As you were, then,” said Eleanor.

Barnaby nodded and wandered off to go check on the new soldiers. He could tell that the Captain didn’t trust them. And if Lady Captain Eleanor didn’t trust them, then no one else should.

Barnaby was fixing a rope near the gangplank that some idiot soldier had untied when a new soldier stepped aboard. This new soldier was clearly of good breading, wearing good quality armor with the Cousland family crest emblazoned across both the breastplate and his shield. The young man in the armor was young, perhaps only a few years older than the Lady Captain. He had short, reddish brown hair, bright blue eyes, and carried himself with the sort of confidence that could only come from both noble birth and prowess in battle. Combined with his looks, easy grin, and the way he was looking at this ship as if he owned the place, and Barnaby instantly knew that the Lady Captain was going to hate him.

“You lost?” asked Barnaby.

“Perhaps, my good sir. Lord Bryce Cousland. I am to lead my soldiers upon this ship in the upcoming battle. I should very much like to speak with Captain Mac Eanraig,” said the newcomer pleasantly.

Barnaby gestured to the quarter deck near the wheel where Eleanor stood beside the navigator, still gazing down upon the workings of her ship like a queen surveying her domain.

“Many thanks,” said Bryce pleasantly.

The young man wove through soldiers and sailors and climbed the steps to the quarter deck. He strode right past Eleanor and held out his hand to the navigator at the helm. “Captain Mac Eanraig, I presume?”

The navigator regarded Bryce with a raised brow. “I look like a noblewoman to you, mate?”

Bryce blinked at him.

“I believe you have other matters to attend to in the navigation room, Pressley,” said Eleanor coolly.

The navigator—Pressley—nodded with a grin and retreated to the navigation room.

Bryce turned around and his friendly, slightly embarrassed smile was met with a look of cold fury from the Captain. “My sincerest apologies, My Lady. Lord Bryce Cousland, at your service.”

Barnaby had been right; Eleanor instantly hated Bryce.

She may have been several inches shorter and of a much more slender frame than Bryce, but Eleanor held herself in such a way that she seemed to loom over the young lord. “I expect you are the commander of these soldiers?”

Bryce was, in that moment, fairly positive that there were high dragons less intimidating than the young woman standing before him. “I am, My Lady, and I assure you that I am perfectly equal to the task. I served along Arl Leonas Bryland and Arl Rendon Howe at the Battle of White River and even received a commendation from Prince Maric, so you need not worry about either me, nor my men, and our capabilities.”

Eleanor strode toward Bryce in a slow, predatory fashion, forcing him to stumble backward toward the railing. He had never been on a ship before and was finding the slight rocking of it already upset his balance. “Allow me to be perfectly clear, _Your Grace_. I do not _care _who your father is or how many commendations you have from His Highness. This is _my _ship and _I _am the captain here. I was captaining war ships before you could even hold a sword. I took down my first Orlesian warship while you were probably still playing about learning how to dance at court parties. Your father may be a teyrn, but on my ship, you are just another soldier and if I see so much as one sail improperly tied down because you and your men got in my way, I will not hesitate to drop you overboard. Are we clear?”

At this point, Bryce was practically leaning on the edge of the railing, with Eleanor essentially in his face. “We’re on the same side here, you realize. It was _your father _who called for us to be here.”

“I know your type, _Your Grace_, and I do not need some lordling appearing on _my _ship and trying to take command just because you would rather believe that my navigator is the captain than dare to imagine that a _woman _might be the most feared raider on the Waking Sea,” shot back Eleanor.

Bryce took a moment to process her words, then gaped at her. “You’re a _pirate_?”

“Yes, though Orlesians have been our only quarry as of late. Do not presume that I will be some wilting Orlesian flower who will fall at your feet just because an accident of birth had you born into privilege and you were lucky enough not to die in a battle or two. Keep your men in line and stay out of my way,” said Eleanor.

“Well, aren’t you an unpleasant little thing,” said Bryce without thinking.

And then, because Eleanor Mac Eanraig did nothing by halves and hadn’t earned her reputation for nothing, she punched him, giving him a bloody nose.

Bryce doubled over in pain, letting out a string of expletives.

Eleanor once more clasped her hands behind her back, appearing relatively unfazed as she called down to her second. “Barnaby, would you be a dear and fetch Lord Cousland here a health poultice? He appears to have gotten himself injured.”

With that, she wandered off onto the main deck to inspect the supplies.

Barnaby resisted the urge to laugh as he quickly retrieved the poultice and handed it to the young lord along with a handkerchief.

“For someone so small, she packs quite the punch,” said Bryce as he gratefully accepted both the poultice and the cloth.

“You got off easy. You should see what she does to suitors,” said Barnaby.

“Maker’s breath, who’s daft enough to try and marry _her_?” wondered Bryce.

Barnaby didn’t respond, just went back about his business. He wondered if this was the only bloody nose the young lord was likely to receive while on _the_ _Mistral_. Somehow, he doubted it.


End file.
